


Potter, You're a Star

by RamaThorn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Eye Sex, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, POV First Person, Post-Hogwarts, fancy party, kind of?, pretty much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26988643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RamaThorn/pseuds/RamaThorn
Summary: You’re a star. And all I want is to go find the darkest ditch somewhere and die in it.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 56





	Potter, You're a Star

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a reference to the song by The Killers "Andy, you're a star". Makes more sense when you find out that it praises Andy (the school bully) with sarcasm (while sounding like a song to a gay lover, naturally). Go listen to it  
> Bonus: a [little sketchy illustration](https://64.media.tumblr.com/69ffd1688543271e289e5832ef863892/b24756c7fb81a294-4e/s2048x3072/4fcd8cfaa093779a1c6e83d8aa4f5440be02828a.png) by me!

Sometimes I think I worship you. Other times I hate you, of course, and the percentage I’ll leave for you to figure out. 

For example, what do you do with that stare of yours? Looking at me like that from across the room full of people. Me looking back is purely incidental because I wouldn’t like for you to set my neck on fire with that stare would I be turned away. 

You’re the centre of the night, of the world. Would you just shut up, I’m tired of that story. I’m looking, see? 

A good thing I hate the whole world that revolves around you. I’m not a part of it. I proved as much, remember? I wonder if I’m going to throw up the second I’m out of everybody’s line of view, out of this farce. The charity event, they said, in the remembrance of the war, they said. The attendance is compulsory, said my home arrest. And a good punishment that is, too. Looking at you over there, surrounded by the unwanted people but staring at me as if— 

A good thing I’m not like them. I would sooner bite you than smile at you the way they all smile, full of wonder and _effort_. Fuck them. I wouldn’t smile at you if my life depended on it. 

You’re a star. And all I want is to go find the darkest ditch somewhere and die in it, alone and undisturbed. Too bad the darkness makes me sick with memories, too. 

I drain another glass of bubbly champagne. It tastes mostly like nothing but it tries to make up for it with all the bubbles. I bet we’re similar like that. 

You get obscured from my line of sight by someone and it’s almost a pity. I could watch you all night, I know for a fact. All faintly uncomfortable with the attention, jerky movements and unsure smiles, but still undeniably bright. Oh, you’re a star. 

My head hurts because of that, because of everything, I hate this place, these people. I used to love ball nights as a child, you know? It fit me, everyone looked at me with smiles and attention I so craved. And the worst thing is, you see: I still want it, want for everyone to look at me with fake smiles and adoration. People change their assumptions about you quickly and now I’m not in their mercy. 

And that makes me all the angrier seeing you _not wanting_ it! 

I know you don’t now, I’ve been looking enough to notice. How dare you not wanting the privilege I do not have? How dare you being a star when I should’ve been it. 

I want to get closer to you, always had, I admit. I want to be something the star looks at. And then I could be above you, above you, _above_ you. 

_On top of you_.

Fuck. I move to the side just a step and I instantly catch your eye. A shock goes down my spine, a sharp little thing. Were you looking for me? You were, weren’t you? 

I smile just a little, involuntarily and baring my teeth just so. We’re not that far now as some minutes ago, I realise, and I can see you pause before looking away at a loud old witch by your side. You practically have to tear your eyes away from me and... Now, isn’t that a curious feeling just in the pit of my stomach?

No, that wouldn’t do. I want you to look at me again. Come on. Do it. Look at me, Potter. 

I fear for a second that you can read my mind (or my thoughts were entirely too loud) because you flick your eyes at me again. Oh, I’m sorry if you indeed are reading my mind: it’s a fucking mess right now. But again, isn’t everything? 

You drift closer with every minute, unnoticeable, in the stream of people surrounding you. I can’t tear my eyes away even to check who’s near me. It’s darker here, in my corner. I hope you’ll enjoy it, that spotlight seems to be very tiring for you to bear for long. 

What a curious little thing, isn’t it? You, drifting closer to me, of all people. God, have you forgot who you _are_? Who I am? I feel equally undeserving and greedy for your attention for a second. And the next: the last part wins. I always felt entitled to your attention, and so far I haven’t been proven wrong, have I? 

Somewhere in a space between the 8th second and the 10nth, you come close enough to talk. I feel drunk, smirking at your faintly annoyed and hard expression. People are looking. 

“Malfoy,” you say, after a bit. You say it as if tasting something awful. I smile wide. You’re such a dick.

“Potter,” I answer, harsh as ever as if I’m 13-year-old twat again. Well, maybe not that bad. 

You stare at me with a strange expression. Cruel, I notice, oh well... Cruel was always a bit of a my thing. 

“I’m terribly sorry, Potter, I had an impression your attention was reserved for people well above my rank, all this lovely crowd around your shining frame?” I have no idea what I’m talking about. “Just lovely, this evening, isn’t it?” 

You stare as if you have no idea what I’m talking about, too. Then you look around slowly, the crowd around us started to resemble a circle of a proper audience now. Without looking at me you say: 

“I need a drink.” And then you’re moving past me, for some reason brushing my elbow when you didn’t have to do that, at all, frankly. 

The audience starts to whisper and I watch you go. A rather nice back, yours. Not that I will acknowledge that to... anyone, really. I wouldn’t acknowledge that to myself, pity I have to deal with my thoughts, I think them, unfortunately. 

I wait just a bit before coming after you through a door leading to the balcony. (No drinks there).

Walking in casual haste I think. Now, what do people who have been enemies—scratch that, rivals— a school bully and a hero that bullied each other? — when one nearly killed the other and then saved a couple of times from death; what would they have to say to each other? 

I walk out to the cool September night, the noise of the ballroom dying out considerably. You don’t turn to see who I am. 

“This evening sucks,” you say, as I come to stand by your side a few feet away. There’s something quiet — even a bit soft?— in your voice as if you’re just tired and not speaking to your arch-rival or whatever. 

I’m a bit at a loss for what to say in return. My tongue goes heavy and the only thought circulating in my head is “this is some surreal shit right here.” 

You don’t look at me and you look amazing. All windswept hair getting in your eyes, warm-looking skin just above the collar of the black robes, your jaw set and angular lines of your profile, Merlin, I could go on and on. I hate you for how negligently good you look. 

We stand on the balcony for a minute, staring at the dark garden spreading below. Warm yellow light from the party washing our backs, muffled noise of conversations feels so very far away. This balcony is a place in-between two real worlds, not quite in either of them. I glance at you and think “ _surreal shit”_.

“Liminal space,” I say, meaning the balcony and maybe nothing else. 

You glance at me. “Yeah?” 

“Yes,” I nod. Then: “This is some surreal shit right here.” 

And... Well, you chuckle. Quietly and a bit warm, maybe? Oh god, you _chuckle at something I said._

“It is, innit?” You say, hiding that little smile again and looking out into the night. “Why are you here, Malfoy?” 

“You said you wanted a drink,” you glance at me, confused. “And I feel drained, so.” 

The night breeze rises bringing the smell of the night grass with it. You don’t chuckle this time, looking put-out and thoughtful at me. 

“You know, Malfoy?... I think it’s the first time we’re alone and talking since we first met.” 

Oh... I search frantically in my mind for even one instance to prove that wrong. The Hogwarts Express (I broke your nose), Myrtle’s bathroom (you sliced me up)... There have to be something else! 

“The Hogwarts Express in sixth year?” I try. I remember talking then. 

You look at me incredulously. 

“You stunned me first and then stomped on my nose.” I grimace. 

“Yeah yeah, alright,” I say. Some good memory you have. 

Then, “I always loved to be a centre of attention, I guess, and there always was plenty around you.” I say. 

“I wanted to publicly humiliate you.” 

“That was mutual.” 

After a bit, there it is. That small chuckle. If I only knew that was an option— talking to you like that — I would’ve never traded that for the attention of my classmates I didn’t care about. 

“I wrote that Valentine song,” unexpectedly comes out of my mouth. Shit. 

“What?” You ask, confused. 

“Never mind,” I turn away, cheeks hot. Goddammit. 

There’s an awkward silence for a bit and I let the relief wash over me. Stupid, that, because you exclaim: 

“Oh! Wait! That horrible one in second year?! It was so humiliating! You said it was Ginny?” Shiiit. 

I clear my throat, gazing intensely down on the night garden, “Um... No?” 

“Yes, you did! Malfoy, what the hell,” you laugh. “I should’ve known, really! Ginny was awkward then, sure, but she wouldn’t have written me a song that was that awful! What was it? Something how my eyes are like a frog? Oh my god.” You laugh harder and I think I’ve never heard anything more amazing. 

“A toad, actually...” I mumble, still not looking at you. 

You just laugh and laugh and I think I’m fucked. I sneak a glance at you and then you’re looking at me as well and I feel like smiling, your grin is so contagious. 

Then you kiss me. Your lips are dry and warm and smiling and I freeze entirely, my heart included, apparently. 

There’s an awkward bit of just lips connected and then you draw away slowly, uncertainty drawing your brows in a frown. I blink at you, not knowing what just happened. 

“I—“ you say just to not continue. 

My heart’s hammering. There’s noise in my ears and I feel dizzy. 

I grab the front of your smart robes and draw you in again, forcefully. I slam our mouths together— ouch — and kiss you open-mouthed and hot. You let out a breath and open your lips. 

My knees feel weak when I taste you. You’re hot and wet and forceful and I think I’ll taste this kiss for weeks. Your tongue slides into my mouth, your hands into my hair, ruining them, ruining me. Fuck. 

You taste like lightning and I’m so struck by you it isn’t funny anymore. 

You draw away after a bit. We look at each other. I don’t know what you see but I see everything I ever wanted. I huff out a laugh. 

“Potter, you’re a star.” 

You grimace and chuckle and kiss me again.


End file.
